


First Dates ★

by elfroot



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, First Dates, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 21:37:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3462923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elfroot/pseuds/elfroot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically what the title says. Male version, in a modern-ish universe.</p><p>ALISTAIR<br/>sweet, candid alistair, idealistic and quick-humored, cracking jokes faster than you can catch your breath. you never expected to feel as deeply as you do, but somewhere down the road, you shunned the thought of a life without him. he danced for you, once—<i>in a dress</i>—and he’d dance for you again should you ever ask. you think that’s the exact moment you fell for him. you were wrong. you’re falling <i>now</i>, standing close on the bridge where you first met, and he sings a poem he wrote for you, a single crinkled page pinched between trembling fingers. notes tumble over his lips in gawky dissonance and you’re positively certain it’s the worst thing you’ve ever heard. you laugh, stealing his otherwise focused attention. your pulse jumps—you meant no offense, but he looks at you with a knowing smile and it stretches his mouth and it warms your cheeks, and you grin at each other. he reaches out to pull you against him, letting go of the page but never of you, and his laughter touches your lips and his hold tightens and <i>maker’s breath but you’re beautiful</i>. he is a lucky man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Dates ★

**ALISTAIR  
** sweet, candid alistair, idealistic and quick-humored, cracking jokes faster than you can catch your breath. you never expected to feel as deeply as you do, but somewhere down the road, you shunned the thought of a life without him. he danced for you, once— _in a dress_ —and he’d dance for you again should you ever ask. you think _that’s_  the exact moment you fell for him. you were wrong. you’re falling  _now,_ standing close on the bridge where you first met, and he sings a poem he wrote for you, a single crinkled page pinched between trembling fingers. notes tumble over his lips in gawky dissonance and you’re positively certain it’s the worst thing you’ve ever heard. you laugh, stealing his otherwise focused attention. your pulse jumps—you meant no offense, but he looks at you with a knowing smile and it stretches his mouth and it warms your cheeks, and you grin at each other. he reaches out to pull you against him, letting go of the page but never of you, and his laughter touches your lips and his hold tightens  _and_   _maker’s breath but you’re beautiful_. he is a lucky man.

 **ZEVRAN  
** you’ve known him for years and still you’ve never quite figured him out. he teases, he lures and he seduces, but he barely ever speaks of himself and you’re left wondering what kind of man hides underneath his exotic appeal. you’re not immune to his advances; he entices and beguiles with expert charm, but you suspect it’s all he does and you have no wish to partake in his frivolous whims. until it changes. until  _he_  changes, defeated and at your mercy—you’ve bested him in a fencing match, and he gladly lies at your feet now, rather than wishing you were at his own. and he  _talks_. he confesses and he reveals, and you realize he’s nowhere near the man you assumed he was. his attraction to you is clear and returned in full, but there’s more, and you let him take you to a dance. his attention never strays from you. he marks you there— _his_ —making you feel like he’s never seen or touched anything more exquisite before. you feel the same when he invites you to his bed, and you accept, finally, breathing his name with his tongue between your thighs, and you know, even as he marked you, that _he_ fully gave himself to you.

 **ANDERS  
** he never goes anywhere without his cat. ser pounce-a-lot, he calls his majestic beast, and your dog can’t stand either of them. as far as deal breakers go, this should most definitely be one of them— _you trust your dog_ —but you give him a chance despite your reticence and he doesn’t disappoint. he’s passionate. a fierce defender of truth and justice, and his generous nature warms your heart. you’re taken by surprise when he invites you to a picnic—perhaps you’ve expected something more…  _explosive_ , but you like his simplicity and you can’t fight the smile off your face when he joins you. he looks tired, clad in his nurse uniform, but he’s there, focused on you like nothing else matters. you change the world together, lying side by side on the blanket he brought with him, and when he finally kisses you—and  _oh_ , he’s certainly passionate about  _that_  too—you nearly forget your own name. the food remains untouched, and it’s just as well; ser pounce-a-lot purrs softly in the basket, fur and whiskers red from crushed and half-eaten berries.

 **FENRIS  
** you never push him.  life has spared neither of you, and while you can’t pretend to know what he’s gone through, there are boundaries you won’t allow yourself to cross. you’ll wait for him. for months, for years. for as long as it takes, because you know you’ll never love again like you’ve come to love fenris. he gives as much as he can, when he can. you’re privileged and  _it hurts_ , because you can only imagine what pain he must have endured to shun everything else, what struggles he must fight to let  _you_  in. he doesn’t do dates. his affection transpires differently. it’s in his eyes when you catch him staring at you, and in the flustered look about him when he gazes away. it’s in his smile when you crack a joke, and in the gentle roll of his eyes—he likes your stupid sense of humor and you could listen to him laugh for the rest of your life. it’s in the brush of his hand when you feel blue, subtle and tender, barely there but  _there_ , heartfelt. it’s in his overall presence, always close in his distance, a broken pillar but a pillar nonetheless, and when you’ve finally lost everything around you,  _he finds you_ , fierce, vehement, his palm against your cheek.  _i’m yours_ , he whispers, gruff and raw, and his lips are warm against your own, his hold tight, and you know that neither of you will ever be alone again.

 **BLACKWALL  
** you were never really good with your hands. he’s tried to teach you, many times, and even though you know you’re a lost cause, he doesn’t easily give up on you. there’s a place in town, a small shop where customers are invited to create their own masterpieces.  _potteries_. you’re not sure why or how he manages to convince you to come along, but here you are, making a mess beside him as he molds clay with the patience of a saint, and you wonder, shamelessly, if he’ll ever touch you the same way. he catches your gaze, and he smiles as you flush—his beard is slightly shorter, trimmed, and he’s positively handsome there, a vase between his expert hands. you give up on your own; he merely laughs, inviting you to wait outside as he pays. the sun’s high, warm on your face, and when you turn around, there’s a blur of colors that catches your attention. it smells of rose and peony, and you  _squeak_ , because there’s a bouquet of flowers in the vase he shaped, for you. he laughs, and you kiss him, on the cheek, walking back home with flowers in your hand and a gentleman on your arm.

 **CULLEN  
** you’ve never expected him to wield a weapon with such efficiency. he holds his sword without fear, skilled and focused and merciless as he spars in medieval armor, and you stand there mesmerized by his prowess, proud and conquered. it’s what first lured you in, the contrasts of his character; you never imagined a man such as cullen to be so capable, so fierce and seemingly controlled among people, the same man you once caught apologizing to the chair he’d just clumsily bumped into. he’s left you dumbfounded many times, and he’s doing it again  _now_ , carrying the toys you won with the same calloused hands he used to spar. he’s most definitely in his element here, and you’re glad he invited you—you’ve never been to a faire before, but despite the many attractions, he’s what makes your heart lurch in your chest. you’ve caught his stare many times, bashful smiles and reddened cheeks, and you searched for his hand just as often, to touch, to hold, and you despair as you seek and evade each other, flustered and frustrated as your fingers merely brush. it’s only when the sun finally sets that he takes you elsewhere, past the small circus, away from the crowd, your eyes riveted on the horizon. you hear him sigh beside you and you turn to face him, but he doesn’t let you. he pulls you in,  _hard_ , before you’ve said anything, and you’re crushed there in his arms and you can’t breathe as he groans into your mouth, and you don’t care. toys pool at your feet and you feel his chuckle on your tongue—you smile, fingers in his hair. in the distance, a lion roars.

 **DORIAN  
** he’s never been in a relationship before and, come to think of it, neither have you. you’ve flirted for months, teased and taunted, until the friend you saw in him grew into something more, and it’s what you want.  _more_. you remember the look on his face when you asked him, pain and warmth and disbelief—you kissed it all away and he believed you, and he believes you now, holding your hand as he walks you back to your room. he’s spared no expenses. he’s brought you here for the weekend, a fancy spa resort in the middle of nowhere, but you’ve barely noticed the magnificent decor. you’ve watched him, all day, oiled skin and knowing smiles, goading you, tempting you. he closes the door behind you, and you watch him still, towel dropped in his wake as he reaches your bed, and you wonder, abstractly, how and  _why_  he’s holding a dozen silken scarves between his fingers.  _amatus_ , he calls, and he looks gorgeous there, sprawled and warm and inviting, and you walk up to him, bare and willing, covering his body with your own; you barely recognize the muffled sound that softly breaches your lips when his legs snake around you.

 **IRON BULL  
** you’re exhausted. you’ve been climbing walls all day, and there’s such a thick layer of sweat clinging to your skin you’re not even sure you’ll be able to scrub it off. he, on the other hand, looks absolutely magnificent, asking for more, encouraging you to keep going and calling you  _boss_  every time you climb a little higher. he makes you feel proud of yourself, but you can’t keep going—you need a shower, desperately so, and he indulges you, finally, reluctantly calling it a day. he’s such a strong, physical being. he follows without ever missing a step, and you’re amazed that he’s never asked for a moment to catch his breath.  _you_  are a mess, and you think  _bed_  as you make your way home, halted by a festive crowd. there’s a parade blocking the way, colors and fire and dragons dancing down the street, and he gasps beside you and there’s heat in his gaze, and you feel his breath on your neck, taking in your scent. he takes you right where you want to go. bed.  _now_. and you know he doesn’t mean to sleep.

 **SOLAS  
** you never expected him to invite you anywhere. he’s told you before.  _it’s dangerous_. he never said why, and you never asked, you were afraid, and you still are. he eludes you. his character, his aspirations. you don’t understand him, and yet you’ve never felt closer to anyone. he feels the same, you know this. he doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t have to—it’s there, in his eyes, every time he looks at you. you nearly pinch yourself when he takes you to the museum. you follow him through various sculptures and expositions on ancient civilizations, and he grows lively before you, passionate, speaking of dreams and fears and pain and you think you’re finally starting to know him. the depths of his mind impress you, and you’re smitten, more than you were, his smiles encouraging.  _you’re beautiful_. you remember his voice as you slip under the covers, long after you’ve returned home. you remember his touch, soft on your face, and the gentle push of his lips over yours. you remember his eyes, wide and pained, and the incessant twitch around the corner of his mouth as he pulled away. you remember what you felt then, as you feel it now, heavy in your chest and cold on your cheeks, because you know, deep down, that you’ll never see him again.


End file.
